Several years ago, I found Becky hidden away in my grandfather’s basement in Normal, Illinois. At the time, Becky wasn’t her name, and she was just one of the thousands of things packed into that basement. (Basements are one of the greatest things about the Midwest. They are a pack rat’s nirvana. Thankfully, my grandfather was one of the biggest pack rats ever).

While I was a bit freaked out by the three foot tall doll with a glassy stare, my wife was intrigued, named her Becky, and brought her back to Texas.

Once at home, Becky took her place in the corner of a room that was only less cluttered than the basement in Illinois by the fact that my grandfather had a fifty year head start on us.

So, there she was. Whenever you entered the room you might catch Becky out of the corner of your eye, slightly gasp, utter an obscenity, and then nervously giggle at the silliness of being startled by a toy. This happened over and over. It happened to me, friends, and even to my mother-in-law.

Seeing people’s reaction to Becky, it didn’t take long before I took her out of that extra room, put her in front of a camera, and began taking pictures.